you’re filthy rich,
you have a beautiful wife
and I’ve never really liked you

–so why encourage me?”

(David Randall Curtis)HINDSIGHT

She says it’s good to see me again.

Her hair, makeup and clothes
are black upon black upon black;
dark shadows
draped over pale skin.

She walks to an empty space
in front of the band.

Her dance is a sensual
catharsis
that turns every casual glance
across the dimly lit room
into an act of voyeurism.

She says she needs to talk.

Her stories
make me wince
but draw me deeper
into her perpetual night.
Howling under the moon
(it’s her manic phase)
she spills her wine.
Her laughter is real and hard.
Her smile more seductive
than the Heavens above us.
She’s still enjoying the ride,
still searching for her limits
and her parents are still waiting
by the front door
fuming.

This will be how I remember her.

Before she carved lines into her face,
laid tracks on her arms
and got all the tattoos
she’d later regret.